


Another Perspective

by HotMolasses



Series: Perspectives [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, thats all this is folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 16:19:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18055892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotMolasses/pseuds/HotMolasses
Summary: A companion piece to"In Perspective", which was written in Hannibal's first-person point of view, this is now Will's point of view of the same moment.He pushes his tongue into me greedily and I cry out, my thighs squeezing closed from reflex while I crunch my stomach, my head lifting far off the bed.  But he is relentless, fucking me with his tongue, and I collapse back down and become mindless butter.  My body swims with lust and want, and I can feel him smiling, and I am too caught up in the moment, too caught up in him to feel my usual irk towards him for it.  Instead my heart soars.  He’s enjoying this as much as I am.  I am lost to it, my legs falling open as I welcome him, drowning in the heat caused by the man I am deeply in love with, no matter what I try to do about it.





	Another Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> A companion piece to ["In Perspective"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17491184), which was written in Hannibal's first-person point of view, this is now Will's point of view of the same moment.
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://snazzymolasses.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Thanks to my beta reader [tcbook](https://tcbook.tumblr.com/)!

              It’s a casual evening, as far as an evening living with Hannibal Lecter can be casual.  I’m relaxed, reading a book as I finish my wine from dinner while he sits in the armchair across from me.  I take a sip of my wine and keep it in my mouth for a minute, silently admitting that the expensive couch Hannibal chose to decorate with is actually comfortable.

              I swallow, and he shifts his position, a sudden tension in his body.  Though his control is flawless and his face doesn’t reflect the change, it’s still obvious to me where his thoughts have travelled.  His eyes are shamelessly staring at my throat, for so long that I start to lose interest in my book as I feel my cheeks getting warm.  

               I’ve stopped trying to tell whether my ability to read him so well is because of my empathy or the similarities we share.  It doesn’t matter.  Whatever the reason, he’s transparent to me, his skills of deception and manipulation unable hide the truth of his desire.  His desire for _me_.  My heart beats stronger as I remember that I have already made it known that I return that desire.       

              Despite that, he still hesitates to say that he wants to be intimate tonight.  It reminds me that he fears my rejection, showing me that he’s vulnerable.  It’s unsettling, seeing the likes of Hannibal Lecter with his emotions laid bare and open, specifically because of me.  Old habits cause me to feel that I need to use this somehow to my advantage to gain the upper hand.  But then I realize I already have it, simply by being able to see him for who he truly is, daily, on a casual evening in our sitting room.  I break the silence without lifting my eyes from my book, though I’m no longer reading it.

               “I can feel your eyes burning through my skin.  Are you going to proposition me, or are you going to pine until sunrise?”

              The bluntness of the statement causes my cheeks to grow warmer.  He freezes, the thief caught in the act.  I watch his initial instinct to lie his way out come to his lips, falter, and then fade away as he allows himself instead to be truthful.

              “I would enjoy your company in the bedroom this evening, yes.”

              The husk in his voice surprises me and I raise my eyes to meet his.  His gaze pierces deeper into me than I was prepared for and I swallow thickly.  Even though I’d read his intentions accurately, I’d somehow miscalculated just how strong his need was.  My body responds to that knowledge with heat, and I stand up and head towards the stairs.  I can hear his footsteps close behind me as I step into our bedroom, his eagerness enticingly apparent when the door slips from his fingers and closes too quickly.

              He turns, and I can’t stop my eyes from wandering over him.  His body is handsome and terrifying, powerful muscles hidden by the false civility of a three-piece suit.  I have seen what those muscles are capable of, both murder and passion, and it brings a quick rise to my heartrate to remember both.  Sharp, elegant cheekbones highlight a face that is normally a mask to the world, but now in the seclusion of our room his eyes are alive with longing and hunger.  They draw me in, my eyes locked to his until I am too close to see them.  I feel his breath wash over my lips, warm and alluring, and the need to taste, to feel, pulls me to kiss him.

              He reacts immediately, one arm wrapping behind my back while his other hand caresses my cheek.  Such a clear display of affection springs heat through my blood as I am reminded that his wanting of me is _real_.  I surrender to it as I kiss him, the heat building in my skin as I press myself to his chest, my palms flat against it so I can be close.  My tongue seeks his lips, tasting, exploring, having.  His nostrils flare as his breaths grow more rapid.  His tongue joins mine, our lust building off each other’s until we’re both giving soft moans, one voice replying to the other in agreement of need and want.

              I slide my hands up his chest to tug at the knot of his tie. He exhales and I breathe in his scent.  Hannibal.  My heart races faster, and then faster still when he reaches up to help me free him.

              We’re impatient as we rush to undress each other.  It’s a strange thing, seeing Hannibal Lecter lose his patience, and for no one to die for it.  I’m not used to it yet and I wonder if I ever will be, seeing him rush to unbutton his shirt and let it fall to the floor, his pants piling on top of it, almost as if his clothes don’t matter to him.  I know that they do- and the realization that I am that enticing to him is still difficult for me to grasp.

              His lips are back on mine and my brain, forever incessant in thought, lets go of whatever I’d been thinking about.  I feel the hunger in his kisses and I echo that hunger back to him, our lips eager to consume.  The heat in my cheeks flames hot and spreads up to my brain and down to my dick.  We both crawl to the bed at the same time, decisions made in tandem by minds that are more alike than either of us wants to admit.

              His hands are everywhere, caressing me, kneading my skin, moving enough to keep my thoughts from forming into anything coherent.  His eyes are gleaming with delight.  He looks like a kid who suddenly has a lot of money and can’t decide what to buy.  I still can’t see myself that way but when his lips come to kiss down my neck, it’s very convincing.

              His tongue slips out to lick my skin and it scrambles my thoughts further, my blood leaving my brain to rush between my legs.  My nose is pressed into his hair and I breathe in the scent of him, so familiar, always exciting, never comforting.  My hands are moving up to tangle my fingers in his hair, my need to keep him close too powerful now for me to even try to deny. He licks down my chest and I know he’s savoring my flavor in the most perverse of ways, which becomes even more obvious when he drags the flat of his tongue heavily over my nipple.

              I gasp and my fingers tighten roughly in his hair and it makes him smile, the bastard.  He’s terrifyingly skilled at listening to the softest sounds I make, or don’t make; to every twitch of my fingers and toes to learn what I like or don’t like.  I come apart under his tongue, soft moans leaving my mouth against my will.  Then he closes his lips and sucks. 

              “Haa…aaa…ahhh…”

              There’s no point now in fighting my voice, so instead I tip my lips to his ear to let him hear exactly what he’s making me feel.  I see the effect on him immediately and his tongue leaves my nipple to drag down my chest, his mouth heading for his favorite place to put it.  His hand brushes my cock and fuck, it feels amazing.  I gasp and arch my back, my body aching for more whether I want to admit it or not.

              Then his eager, insatiable mouth is on me and it reduces me to little more than a squeak.  He takes me down like he’s starving and I’m one of the delicacies on his table.  My mind wants to think more about that but it can’t, the pleasure shooting up my cock and through my balls with spikes of heat.  My breaths come in short gasps and my fingers tighten in his hair.  It feels so good I’m trembling, my knees quivering as they bend to lift my hips closer to his hot, lascivious mouth.  Lust rushes through my every cell, and any hesitation I’ve had about this completely evaporates.

              “Han…han…han…”

              He takes me down deep into his throat, swallowing the head of my cock and squeezing it with his esophagus muscles.  I’m seconds away from coming and it takes all of my willpower to yank his head away from me by his hair.  He stares at me from beneath his disheveled hair, his tongue swiping over swollen lips covered in drool, and the heat pulsing in my veins rushes to flame my cheeks.

              “Do you want this to end so quickly?” I manage, insinuating that I do not.

              “I couldn’t help myself.  Your taste is intoxicating.”

              I give a short laugh of disbelief, but the sincerity on his face is terrifyingly convincing.  We are still for a moment, his naked body curled halfway down mine, entirely bare and vulnerable.  His expression is earnest, almost sheepish.  I know without a doubt that he’s spoken the absolute, genuine truth to me, that he could not help himself.  It’s endearing, and my fingers release his hair to stroke down along his cheek, tracing that face that has lied to so many, for so long, and is now being truthful with me.

              He turns his face to kiss my palm, and its tenderness washes over my already growing attraction to him.  I still feel a little giddy, a little nervous before I ask for something that is still so new, but my want for him overrides any hesitation.

              “Here.” I say, opening my knees wide, flutters rising in my stomach as this is the closest I’ve ever come to admitting aloud that I want him to fuck me.  I’m never able to say it and he never makes me; the one time our ability to read each other without words is an advantage.  Intimate minds alter easily to become intimate bodies, and his understanding of my meaning is clear as he kisses his way across my hip and then down my thigh.

              He buries his face between my leg and balls and breathes in deep.  If I wasn’t so turned on I’d find it ridiculous and roll my eyes at him, but right now all I can feel is want and heat.  His tongue flicks out to lick over one of my balls and then I give a sharp gasp when he sucks it into his mouth.  Fear spikes in me, as there is always, always that whisper in the depths of my thoughts reminding me that he takes joy in eating human flesh.  That I have seen him take bites out of living people.  Then again, so have I.

              His tongue gently massages me and the pleasure it causes erases whatever I’d been thinking about.  He holds nothing back, inhaling deeply with his nose, enjoying the scent and flavor of me as a lover, not as a meal.  His lips and tongue know exactly what to do to make me tremble, my breaths heaving from my chest as he lets me slip out of his mouth and moves to lick lower.  I jump at the first touch of his tongue to my sphincter, a sensation that is still unfamiliar, but in seconds the pleasure starts to come. 

              He licks shamelessly, flicking his tongue to tease and then pressing it hard to satisfy, until my blood rushes to the spot.  The heat builds until I groan loudly now, no longer caring what I sound like.  He teases me with his tongue until I am wanton, my breaths thick and shaking, my vision swimming as my eyes flick down to see a naked Hannibal Lecter curled beside my body, his head disappearing between my thighs.

              He pushes his tongue into me greedily and I cry out, my thighs squeezing closed from reflex while I crunch my stomach, my head lifting far off the bed.  But he is relentless, fucking me with his tongue, and I collapse back down and become mindless butter.  My body swims with lust and want, and I can feel him smiling, and I am too caught up in the moment, too caught up in _him_ to feel my usual irk towards him for it.  Instead my heart soars.  He’s enjoying this as much as I am.  I am lost to it, my legs falling open as I welcome him, drowning in the heat caused by the man I am deeply in love with, no matter what I try to do about it.

              His hand reaches down between his legs to stroke himself, and my heart races faster at the thought of him getting hard in order to fuck me.

              “Yes.” I say softly, my voice cracking anyway.  He eagerly strokes himself, the veil of civility slipping away from him and my heart blooms as I see how impatient he is.  He is as raw and open and vulnerable as I am in this.  My fingers stroke through his hair with affection.

              His impatience is made clearer when he brings a hand between my legs and presses his finger hard against my hole, barely licking it before he’s pressing it into me.  It burns and teases all at once, driving my pulse faster with anticipation.  I have associated physical pain with Hannibal for a long time- but the pleasure part of this is new, terrifying, and exhilarating.  Before I’m ready he’s pressing a second finger into me and I can’t help it, I yelp, and he hardly seems to notice.  He is so entranced with his task he’s losing his patience, his finely-honed awareness, and even his grace as his strokes to his cock become more erratic and rough.  I watch in awe as his beast rises to the surface, cracking through his perfectly constructed mask and leaving it behind, shattered.

              He rises, and I shamelessly rake my gaze over his lithe and muscular body.  The body of an apex predator, the top of the food chain, consumer of all and hunted by none.

              None but me.

              He pauses to take me in as well, and for a moment we are nearly still, though I’m not able to stop stroking my cock because of how deeply it aches.  His hair is disheveled and his chin shines with drool.  He smacks his lips and I’m not sure he’s aware he’s done it.  My eyelids fall half-closed as I allow the last traces of my mind to slip over the edge.  Whatever consequences I may have once worried about are no longer my concern.  I belong to him, and even more incredibly, he belongs to me.

              He shimmies his knees under mine and I drape my legs shamelessly over his thighs.  He reaches for the bottle of oil he keeps on the nightstand and hurries to pour it over my skin, destroying whatever thousand-dollar sheets we are laying on.  His fingers massage the oil into my skin, between my legs, and into my ass.  His tongue slips out between his lips again, and this time I’m not letting him get away with it.

              “Thinking of what recipes I’d go well with?”

              I feel him freeze.  Every muscle of the predator above me is ready to strike- and then within two seconds, is relaxed again.  He remembers that I _know_ him.  There is nothing he has to hide from me.

              “I would make an olive-oil based marinade, the meat steeped in juices for 8 hours chilled, followed by two hours warming on the counter before basting periodically during roasting.”

              His eyes close and I know he’s thinking about it.  Thinking about cooking me, serving me, eating me.  I’m probably at his table with him, in his mind-palace, partaking of my own flesh, and in his fantasy I can appreciate the fine and subtle flavors as well as he can. 

              His cock swells against my thigh, and I am done waiting.

              “I felt that.”

              His eyes slip open.

              “Let me feel it more fully.”

              He dumps oil ungraciously over his dick and plops the bottle back into the dish he keeps it in with an impatient splash.  He takes only seconds to coat himself, his fingers slip out of me, and then he’s there, the head of his cock pushing hard against my ass.  I close my eyes as I feel him breach me, the stretch still not something I’m used to and I know I wince.  I don’t want him to care and he doesn’t, steadily pushing himself into me, need written clearly on his face now as he fills me with his cock.  My heart is racing now, the glow of lust singing in every pulse as I watch his hips sink slowly towards mine while he steadily fills me.  I feel my body yield to him as he pushes me open deeper and deeper until we are joined, and I feel the heat of his balls press against my ass.

              His fingers clasp around my hips with desperation and he starts to rock.  I grit my teeth at first, but it’s not long before he has me completely spread open for him, until I feel full without the pain, until I’m taking a cock into me and wanting it, until when he slides out I’m eager for him to return.  He’s making soft little groans as he pushes into me and I’m enraptured by them.  His face is contorted in pleasure, his eyes closed until he forces them open and drags his gaze down my body.  The way he looks at me makes me feel more than desirable- he makes me wonder at how I’d ever felt anything else.  I am the most coveted thing Hannibal has come across in all his life, and for a moment I’m nearly paralyzed with disbelief and awe.

              Then he pulls back and thrusts into me, hard.

              “Oh _fuck_.” is all I can manage as pleasure springs up through my nerves.  He fucks me hard and fast and fuck and fuck and _oh yes, oh yes_.  I forget language.  I forget our games.  I forget everything that is supposed to matter because _fuck_ it feels so _good_.

              It feels good to be wanted.  It feels good to be coveted.  I’m stroking myself hard with one hand and the other one is gripping the sheets until my knuckles are white.  My heels dig into his back as I tighten my legs around him, pulling him into me, wanting, needing.  My eyes blink open here and there and I catch flashes of Hannibal over me, his hair falling in his face as he thrusts into me with relentless power and endurance.  He puts his palms flat on the bed beside me and somehow fucks harder.

              “Fuck, Hannibal, yes yes, _fuck_.”

              “Will.” he says, and that’s it.  His voice is barely a whisper, and my heart shines to hear that he is as undone as I am.

              Muscles that are meant to kill are now driving themselves hard for our mutual pleasure, and I can no longer avoid thinking about how utterly, completely drawn I am to him.  I’m pulled by forces stronger than my own will power, more intense than the turmoil in my own mind, more enticing than any life in civilization could try to offer me.  I’ve tried to resist him with all I have and have failed, and so now I join to him freely, the old trappings of a false self falling away and crumbling to rubble.  He sinks his chest to press hard against mine and my arms slip out from between us to cling to him.  He sucks kisses into my neck and all I can do in response is moan.  I have little control over my own body now; he has taken it all from me.  My thoughts and speech and motions now no longer belong to myself; they are all his, every part of me.  I can no longer hide my desire, my _need_ for him.

              He’s pounding into me now like a ferocious, terrible beast, and every muscle I have is aching as I pull him closer for more, more, more.  All of my justifications fall away, exposed for the excuses they are, leaving me with nothing but the utter truth of what I am.  He causes me to reveal everything I’ve worked so hard to bury, everything I’ve striven to keep hidden from the world so that it does not consume me.  He makes me show how much I desire him, my body straining to be with him until I am trembling and aching, despite my desire to hide these feelings from the world and from myself.  He makes me declare what I am, who I am, and I have no power to refute him at all.  He makes me betray myself.

              “I need you, Will.  Never part from me.”

              “I could never leave you.”

              I can feel the change in him.  His pleasure is close now and he’s chasing it, driving into me with short, quick thrusts, his face showing more emotion on it than I would have thought it capable of.  He shudders and gives a soft squeak, a sound I am certain has never been granted to another pair of ears except my own.  He clutches me tightly as his pounding slows to gentle rocks, and I hold him close to me, amazed at how lost he has allowed himself to become.

              “Will, Will, Will…”

              It’s beautiful.

              He stills and catches his breath.  He gives my eyes a quick glance and then slides down my body, his cock roughly pulling out of me, causing me to wince.  I forget about that in seconds as his mouth sucks my straining erection into it and down all the way to his throat.  Whatever he’d been holding back on before he doesn’t now, and I am consumed by a hungry, needy tongue, lips, and throat.  Three swallows is all it takes and my back arches, my pleasure pouring out of me and into the heat of his mouth.  He’s drinking me, consuming me, and we both know what this means to him.  To us.  My heart pounds so hard I’m deafened by it, waves of pleasure raking through my body, making me tremble.

              Then it’s too much and I yank his head away from me by his hair.  He looks at me with a satisfied smirk as he makes a show of smacking his lips.  I roll my eyes at him but I’m grinning as he crawls back up my body to lay beside me.  We tangle easily in each other’s arms, his fingers stroking affectionately through my hair, and every part of me is glowing.

              I try not to doze, but I’m so comfortable and sated I can’t help it.  Hannibal presses his lips to mine and I groan, easily opening for him, our tongues seeking each other without our usual defenses in the way.  It’s unfettered passion, and it has the glow within me sparking brighter while also sating me nearly to sleep.

              We pull back until we can see each other’s faces, and he strokes my hair, another feeling that is so simple and yet is nearly overwhelming.

              “I keep thinking I’m getting used to this, and then you remind me that I’m not.” I say softly.

              “I’m the reminder?”

              His tone is so playful it makes me laugh.  Playful.  Hannibal Lecter.

              “I think we’re both in over our heads.”

              “I concur fully.”

              His face is radiating joy and affection.  I curl myself into his arms and am overcome with emotion as he strokes his fingers through my hair.  My body relaxes as the intensity of our experience fades, leaving behind a deep, satiated feeling that comes from having finally accepted my becoming.  I have abandoned all that held me back, allowing my beast free to declare itself in its full and unhindered glory.  I’m content and at peace as sleep comes for me, no longer something I dread, but instead something I welcome. There is no nightmare that can come for me now as I have chosen to join myself to the darkest of them, as he has chosen me.  This is the life we have crafted for ourselves, hearts and bodies laid naked and bare, vulnerable and yet free.  This is our design.    

             

             

                           


End file.
